The Silver Kiss
by Gabrielle Potter-Malfoy
Summary: Lily has cancer. James doesn't pay attention to Gabby.
1. Gabrielle

The Silver Kiss  
  
Disclaimer: Okay this is not oficially Harry Potter but I put some Characters in it. Cause I love it. So this is not mine  
  
Chapter 1: Gabrielle  
  
The house was empty Gabrielle knew as soon as she walked through the front door. Only a clock ticking in the kitched challenged silence.  
  
Fear unclurned with her. Mommy, she though like a child. It is the hospitalk again- or worse? She dropped her school bag in the hall, forgetting the open door, and walked slowly into the kitchen, afraid of what message might await her. There was a note or the rerigerator.  
  
Gone to the hospital. Melissa's at Jenna's house and Harry is with Blaise. Make your dinner.  
Be back when I can.  
  
Love, dad  
  
P.s Don't wait up  
  
She crumbled the note and flung it at the trash can. It missed, she snorted in disgust.  
It seemed that lately all her conversations with her father had been carried on with a banna refrigerator magnet as intermediary. The bannana speaks, she thought. It defended the refrigerator, stopped from opening the door. She couln't eat.  
  
Gabrielle the bird they called her at school. She had always been thin, but now her bones seemed hollow. Her wrists and joints were bruised with shadows. She was almost as this as her mother, wasting away with Cancer in the hospital. A sympathy death perhaps, she wondered half seriously. She had always been compared to her mother. She had the same green eyes, although she had black hair that was straight,  
and deceptively pale skin that tanned quickly at the slightest encouragement. Wouldn't it be ironic if she died too, fading out suddenly when her look-alike went?  
  
Gabrielle drifted from the kitchen, not sure what to do. How could she wash dishes or wipe counters when God know's what was happening with her mother at the hospital? She shrugged off her coat, leaving it on a chair. Dad kept on saying everything would be alright, but what if something happened and she wasn't even there, all because he couldn't admit to her that mom might be dying?  
  
She tugged at her sweater, twisted a lock of hair, her hands couldn't keep still.  
I should be used to this by now, she thought. It had been going on for over a year.  
The long stays in the hospital, short stays home, weeks of hope, the sudden relaspes,  
and the curses that made her mother sicker and experience more pain. But it would be a sin to be used to something like that, she thought. Unnatural. You can't let yourself get used to it, because that's like giving in.  
  
She paused in the dining room. It was sparsley furnished with a long trestle table and chairs that almost all matched, but the walls were a fanfare to her mother's life.  
The gave a home t large, bright, splashy oils that Lily Potter painted, pictures charged with bold emotions, full of laughing people who lept and swirled and sang. Like mom,  
Gabrielle thought-like mom used to. And thats where they differed, for Gabrielle wrote quiet poetry suffused with twilight and questions. It's not even good poetry, she thought.  
I don't have talent, it's her. I should be the one ill, she has so much to offer, so much life. "You're a dark one," her mother said sometimes with amused wonder "You're a mystery."  
  
I want to be like them, she thought almost pleadingly as she stroked the crimson paint to feel the brush strokes, hoping maybe to absorb the warmth.  
  
The living room was cool and shadowed. The glints of sunlight on the roof. She could see through the window resembled light playing on the surface of water, and the rooms aqua colors hinted at undersea worlds. Perhaps she'd find peace here. She sank into the couch.  
  
Just enjoy the room, she told herself, the room that has always been here, and always will, the room that hasn't changed. I am five, she pretended. Mom is in the kitchen making an early dinner. They are going out tonight to a party, and Sarah is coming over to baby-sit. I'll go and play with my dollhouse soon.  
  
But it wouldn't last, so she opened her eyes and stretched. Her fingers touched the cheapness of newsprint. The morning paper was till spread on the couch. She glanced at it with little interest, but the headline glared "Mother of two found Dead." Her stomach lurched mother found dead, she thougt bitterly. Why not everyones? But she couldn't help reading the next lines. Throat slashed, the article said, drained dry of blood.  
  
"That's absurd," she said out loud. Her fingers tightened in the disgust, crumpling the page. "What is this the National Enquirer?" She tossed the paper away, wrenched herself to her feet, and headed to her room.  
  
But he phone rang before she reached the stairs. She flinched but darted for the hall extension and picked it up. It was a familiar voice, but not her fathers.  
  
"Gabby, it's horrible." Lorraine, her bestfriend, wailed across the phone lines with typical drama. IT should have been comforting.  
  
"What's horrible?" Gabrielle gasped with a pounding heart. Had the hospital phone Lorraines because she wasn't home?  
  
"Were moving."  
  
"What?" A moment's confusion.  
  
"Dad got the job in Oregon."  
  
"Oregon? My god, Lorraine. Venus?"  
  
"Almost."  
  
Gabrielle sat down in the straight backed chair beside the phone table. It wasn't her father. It wasn't death calling. but... "When?" she asked.  
  
"Two weeks."  
  
"So soon." Gabrielle wrapped and upwrapped the phone cord around her fist.  
This isn't happened, she thought.  
  
"They want him righ away. He's flying out tongiht. Can you believe it? He's going to look for a house when he gets there. I got home and Diane was calling up moving companies."  
  
"But you said he wasn't serious."  
  
"Show's how much he tells me, doesn't it? Diane knew."  
  
Gabrielle grasped for something to say. Couldn't something stop this? "Isn't she freaked out at the rush?"  
  
"Oh, She thinks it's great. It's a place nucleur fall will miss, and she can grow lot's of zuchini."  
  
"What about your mom?"  
  
"She wouldnt' care if he moved to Australia. But she's pretty pissed taht he's taking me."  
  
"Can't you stay with her?" Please, please, Gabrielle begged silentely.  
  
"Oh, you know that's a lost battle. Cramp her style."  
  
"Lorraine! She's not that bad."  
  
"She moved out, didn't she?"  
  
No use fighting that arguement again, Gabrielle thought. "Oregon." She sighed.  
  
Lorraine groaned. "Yeah! This is hideous. It's the wilderness or something. I'm not ready for the great trek. I could stay with you." She added hopefully.  
  
"I'll ask." Gabrielle said, although there wasn't a chance. They bother knew that was impossible right now."  
  
"Nah!"  
  
What will I do? Gabrielle thought. "You can visit." It seemed like a pathetic suggestion.  
  
"Big Deal."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Can you come over?" Lorraine asked.  
  
"No. I better stay here for now."  
  
"Uh-oh! Something wrong?"  
  
"She's in the hospital again."  
  
"Oh, Hell."  
  
This is were Lorraine shuts down, Gabrielle thought. Why can't she talk to me about it?  
Why does she have to back off everytime? She's my bestfriend, damn it, not like those ners at school who are to embarassed even to look at me anymore. She searched for what to say. Something to keep Lorraine on the line.  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Listen." Said Lorraine. "You don't really feel like talking now. Call me when you've heard. Okay?"  
  
No it's you who doesn't want to talk, Gabrielle thought, but she found herself saying.  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Okay. We'll talk then." But she didn't hang up. "Hey, Listen Gabrielle I love you and all that mush. Like sisters, you know." It tumbled out fast to cover the unacustomed shyness. "Call me."  
  
"Sure." Gabrielle smiled wrly. They wouldn't talk about it. "Bye."  
  
She does care, Gabrielle reassured herself. She doesn't know how to deal with it.  
Who does? But Gabrielle was angry anyway. They could always talk before.  
Usually Lorraine's choice of topic, but they could talk. And now, Lorraine leaving.  
Waas the world coming to an end? They'd been friends forever. What's wrong with the way things were? Why did you have to go and change every damn thing? She felt like yelling at God she wansn't ever sure existed. Am I being punished? What did I do?  
  
It all made her so very tired. I'm read to take a nap, she decided. She went upstairs.  
Sleeping had taken the place of eating lately. She lay down on top of the spread and escaped for a while.  
  
She awoke with a jolt. She grappled with the fleeting blur of dreams and regonized sounds that might have been the front door slamming, or the thud of her own rooms door. She got up stiff and unrested and made her way downstairs. Rattling and crackling came from the kitchen. She entered to find her father making himself a bowl of cereal. White-faced, he looked at her, dark circles etched beneath his eyes.  
  
"Dammit, Gabrielle, the front door was open."  
  
"Sorry, Dad. Must have forgotten. No one was here. It scared me. I went to find a note."  
Her fingers picked nervously at the seam of her jeans. How could she have forgotten the door?  
  
"You can't just leave doors open, Gabrielle. For crying out loud, look at the newspapers."  
  
Newspapers? She thought. Was he talking about the articles? Why bring that up?  
Why was he picking on her? He didn't care. "I was here."  
  
"I know. I saw your bad. I checked your room." His voice softened. "Sleeping again,  
Gab? Don't you sleep at night?"  
  
She didn't answer. If he was home any amount of time he would know.  
  
The sight of cereal made her hungry at last. She looked in the refrigerator. A tuna casserole her mother's friend Carol had brought over three days ago sat there, browning around the edges. Carol was a warm hearted, generous person, but she was not a cook.  
Gabrielle put the casserold safely away and sat down with her father. She served her-  
self some cereal too. She thought she could handle cereal.  
  
Her father was staring at her. She suddenly felt bad for being rude. He looked sad. It wasnt' his fault he had to spend so much time at the hospital, so much time making up work, so he could pay for a private room. Maybe if all his side of hte family weren't off in California it would be easier on him. He should let me help more, she thought. But she could hear exactly what he would say. You can help by not worrying about your mother.  
  
"Hows mom?" She dared to ask.  
  
"Not to good this time, love. She's stil trying to be a good solider, but it's wearing thin."  
  
"Is she staying?" Please say no, Gabrielle thought.  
  
"Yes a few weeks. Maybe more."  
  
Gabrielle saw the pinched look on his face, and the tears behind his eyes. Maybe forever this time, but he can't tell me.  
  
They both ate in silence and mechanically. There was no enjoyment, just the surrender to physical need. Her dad had turned back into James Potter, the man whose wife was dying, the man who had forgotten he had two daughters not one.  
  
Several times she took a breathe but the words died in her throat. "Dad?" She finally said.  
  
"Hmm." His gaze distant.  
  
"Dad. About Lorraine."  
  
"What? Had a fight?" He asked vaguely.  
  
This isn't grade school, she wanted to yell, but she said quitely and carefully. "She's moving." Suddently she was almost crying. All it would take would be in his arms around her, and she wanted that badly.  
  
"Hey thats exciting." He said missing the point. He slurped his milk absently.  
  
The tears stayed back up tight. A lump in her throat, and she wanted to scream out loud. Where was the old dad who might have said "Well tell her to stand still." He would joke, then turn serious to hear her our and comfort her like her mother did, but he tried.  
I guess he's in there somewhere, she thought. She didn't try to tell him again. His world was to shattered for her to add her own cracked pieces to the pile.  
  
Mom would know what to say, Gabrielle thought. Even now, she would. If only they wouldn't cut my visits so short. It seemed like she'd no longer remembered what she wanted to say than they were hustling her out the door again. No one listened to her.  
  
"I'm going for a walk," She said abruptly. She had to walk or she'd scream for sure. She got her denim jacket from the hall closet. "Bye."  
  
"Don't be to long," Her father called.  
  
Doesn't he realize what time it is? She asked herself as she walked up the street. Almost ten. What happened to the worrying about the newspapers.?  
  
The night was crisp and sweet like apples. A gibbous moon hung plump and bright. She headed for the small local park. It was a plot of land on a street corner, scatterd with trees and holdong a thick maze of bushes near the center there were a few swings,  
a slide, seasaw, and three battered animals on springs that bobbled you back and forth drunkely, until your backside grew to sore to sit on them.  
  
Gabrielle loved to come late and wander alone after evern the wild children had been dragged home. She dreaded the advent of the bright lights the saftey-consious community wanted to install. She liked it as it was now, with the few lights making golden pools in the mysterious darkness.  
  
She settled on her favorite of the heavily ethced benches. It faced the gazebo at the very center of the parkline. Pretty little domed building had always fasinated her.  
It had sets of steps all around like a carousel, and its open gingerbread sides like walls. It was always kept freshly painted summer-white and reminded her of a tiny place she had heard from an Indian Fairy tale. She had heard that bands used to play there once, on Sunday afternoons, now children sheltered there when it rained.  
Take me into your story, she thought.  
  
Moon light lit the gazebo, tracing it with silver, but a shadow crept inside, idependent of natural shades. She tensed. Her hands gripped the edge of the bench, she leaned forward to decipher it's meaning, peering into the mottled dark. She saw someone with in.  
  
A figure detached from the shadows. Her mouth dried. Mother of two found dead, she thought. It moved toward her, stepping into the moon light on the side closest to her,  
and briefly she thought to run. The she saw his face.  
  
He was young, more boy than man, slight and pale, made elfin by the moon. He noticed her and froze like a deer before headlights. They were wrapped each other's eyes. His eyes were dark, full of wilderness and stars. But his face was ashen almost as pale as his silver hair.  
  
With a sudden acho she realized he was beautiful. The tears that prickled her eyes broke his bonds, and he fled, while she sat and cried for all things lost. 


	2. Draco

Chapter 2: Draco  
  
Draco wiped the rats blood from his mouth. It was not as satisfying as Human blood, but it would do. There had been no food at the park, except the girl, of course. She had suprised himj. He didn't like suprises. But now he remembered the way she had held him with her eyes, and the slight taste of fear in the night air. He regretted having left so fast.  
  
He had crouched in this alley behind a row of shops for twenty minutes now, catching and drinking, catching and drinking. They were now hiding, the rats. They knew something was up. Big cat, he thought, and smiled a thin glittering smile.  
  
Time to move on. He stood and stretched lean muscled arms reaching skyward. He wore a T-shirt despite the cool fall night. It was black like his jeans, like the high top chucks trimmed with white. He was fond of black, shadows, he thought.  
  
Night. It satisfied him to wear black yet his laces were red. "Blood," he had whispered that evening at the thrift store, when his fingers would not leave them alone in the bin. They tangled around his hand unti he had to fling them from him or buy them. He handed a dime from the gutter over to the woman with the supsicious frown and fled to this same alley to put them on.  
  
Where would he go from here? The Park? Maybe that girl had left by now but maybe not. I should go anyway, he thought, and smiled again, the same glittering smile. She was beautiful, dark like the night, but this, as if one of his brethen had already claimed her. A frown changed his features suddenly then disppeared as quickly. No. She did not have the smell of that upon her. There was something voluptous about her, though, that reminded him of Death. Green eyes too, he thought, and chuckled at his particular preference.  
  
But she had startled him. He had found that park two weeks ago, and no one came at that time of night. He had let his gaurd slip. That was Dangerous and foolish. No, he would not go to the park, he decided. It would keep. She had sat there with a familarity that suggested habit. He would see her again. He would go to that house instead. He had only a few blocks to walk from here. He would see what that boy was up too.  
  
Draco left the alley cautiously. It was good to be seen at the same place often. It was an excellent hunting place, he did not want to lose it. He walked the pavement with shoulders hunched, hands in each poket, as if against the cold. Who knew who was watching? He would have to get a coat. The Street he traveled intersected the alley that ran behind the houses on Chesnut Street. He made a right. Five houses along he stopped at the end of a long backyard.  
  
There were no lights on at the back of the house. The yard was mottled with moolight. Draco flowed from shadow to shadow between the trees and bushes, as if a shadow himself. He might have been a cloud in front of the moon. He reached the rough brick house and crept to the okay tree at the corner. With the ease of a cat he scaled the Tree and flowed up to a perch on a Sturdy Limb. He barely rattled the brittle Autumm leaves that still clung tenciously to their twigs.  
  
He could see into a bedroom. It was an anonymous room. The walls were bare, nothing there to suggest the personality of the occupant. A boy of six or seven curled with a book, reading by moonlight and a teddy bear close to him. Lay in the bed. YOu'll ruin your eye sight boy, Draco thought, and grinned wickedly. It was a thicked book than you would expect a six-year-old to be reading, and Draco itched to see the title. Occasionally, the boy would supress a laugh and shake his head, whisking his delicate white hair through the moonlight.  
  
Then the droor opened. Gold stole silver as the hall light shone into the room. A young Woman stood in the doorway, smiling as she caught the last fury of the book being concealed under the covers.  
  
"Christopher," she said softly. "It's a little late to be playing. It's nearly midnight. Settle down dear. Get some, sleep."  
  
"Uh-huh," the boy answered, and snuggled into his pillow. She blew him a kiss nad left, closing the door.  
  
Draco saw the boy lying there with his eyes open, staring into the night smiling. There was a growl in the back of Draco's throat he could barely contain. It almost chocked him. He climbed down the tree before it burst from his mouth. It was not the right time or place.  
  
Below there was a clatter in the kitchen. Dishes were being put into the dishwasher, and two sleepy voices were talking. He leaned closer to the window.  
  
"........should have settled in by now," came a Man's voice.  
  
"But it's hard for a young child," the Woman answered, "adjusting to a new home."  
  
"It's been a month."  
  
"Yes, but after a year in that home, and God knows what before?"  
  
"Yeah, Guess you're right."  
  
"He's a sweet boy."  
  
"A bit quiet."  
  
"Oh. he'll be a brain. You'll see."  
  
That man laughed. "Got it all planned out, have you?"  
  
"Sure. Nobel Prize."  
  
He laughed again. "Come on let's go to bed." The light went out.  
  
"It'll work out, you'll see." said the Woman. "You can't expect perfect when you adopt an older child."  
  
"Yeah it's a pity about that delicate skin as well too. Damn sensitive. Maybe it we....." his voice faded into the center of the house.  
  
Draco sat in the bushes for a long while. He breathed the night, made plans, and abandoned them. No one in the house stired. Dreams shimmered in the windows; all except one window, where dark hunger beckoned.  
  
Finally, Draco heard the first predawn bird cry, and he rose to his feet in a singly supple motion. His body made no protest at the barking of the vigil.  
  
It was as if it were only seconds ago he had crouched there to watch. Silently he left the yard by the wya he had come, and accompanied by awakening birds, he made his way back what was home this week, an abandoned elementary school on Jeniffer Street.  
  
He pulled aside a board and slid through a smashed window into the pricipals office. The room was grimed with dust and cobwebs, had once been a synonym for hell to the sixt graders, but now all that was left was an old file cabinet with only one drawer working and a desk with rusted seams. There was no chair. Built-in shelves lined the room, and the wooden floor had once been clean. A battered suitcase sat on of the shelves.  
  
With the board back in place the room was dark. The dawn found it's way through the planks here and there; needle thin rays spot lighting dancing motes. but the barely pentrated the dark. This did not bother Draco. He did not need much light to see. He took down the suitcase, and opened it. Inside was a small painting in gilt frame. It was a family: a man, a woman with a baby in her arms, and a small child. The Varnish was cracked and old. Beneath the painting was soil, dark dry soil, as almost as flyaway as the dust in the room. Draco ran his fingers through the soil and sighed. This was his sleep; the soil of his homeland. The earth he would have rested in for eternity, if he had truely died.  
  
It was a taste of death, perhaps. It restarted him. Without he would waste away to nothing and become shrivled. Unable to move, unable to feed, but still unable to die. An undead hell.  
  
He raised the painting to his lips and kissed it softly, then replaced it in the suitcase, cloes the case, and flished the latches shut. He needed rest but not the comalike trance that sometimes took him. He could always tell when that was coming. It took a big feed: a human feed. Now he just needed a dormant period to recharge, so to speak. He lifted the suitcase off the large desk and slid it into the cubbyhole beneath. He crawled in after it. He curled, incircling the case, and wrapped his arms around it, clutching it as if it were treasure.  
  
He lay there eyes open staring beyond the room, beyond the school. Before he leapt into a dream, he thought of the girl again. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Pale as the milk of death, think and sharp like pain." And he drifted out to the stars.  
  
A.n/ Draco seems evil. But you have to wait to really know what is Draco's past in this story....yes, yes I know confusing. But in the later chapters Draco's mysterious past will unwravel.  
  
Brethen- it's A Vampire group...not really good at explaning  
  
The other story's WILL be updated soon. All in time. I am writing and typing these As I am "Sick" so it will take a while. And On My Profile it says you can find me on Mugglenet. Well right now I am not able to get on. So Just email me at: : or:  
  
Thanks...Please read and review. All you have to do is press the Wonderful "Go" button. smiles  
  
A.N/ I Want to Say thanks My friend "Spideria". Her story's inspired me to write. Her story's are wonderful. If you have time check them out. She deserves some kind of award for her creativity 


	3. Gabrielle

Title: The Silver Kiss Couple: Gabrielle/Draco Summary: Lily is dying. James is always making a fuss about it.  
Harry lives with Blaise, Melissa stays with her friend. Gabrielle has to take charge of everything. She has an enormous weight on her shoulders. A certain someone helps her make it through.  
Rating R: it has some bad words and stuff.. So yeah I put R so it won't be taken off.  
  
Newayz on to the story  
  
Chapter 3: Gabrielle  
  
Gabrielle left the library early. It was no use sitting there doing nothing. She had stared at the wall, out the window, and at the clock; anything but write. Her fresh notebook page had become a mass of scribbled out false starts. She would have nothing to show Mrs. Muir tomorrow in their antique session.  
  
I want to write something beautiful about my mother, she thought.  
But it had all come out so trite, and she knew it. She wanted to write something important that spat in death's teeth. The trouble was, she didn't want Mrs.Muir to know about her mother. She didn't want her to say "Poor thing" or something awful about God's will like that idiot woman next door, so what she ended up with was something less than honest, and dishonest poetry didn't work.  
But I can't write about anything else if I can't write about Mom,  
Gabrielle thought. She's the most important thing. God! I'm really blowing school. It was as close being a perfect class as she could imagine, this independent-study business, yet if she continued like this it would be a waste of a quarter. I can't start screwing up in school, she thought. Mom has enough worries.  
  
"Damn," she muttered as she fumbled with her locker. It always stuck. She felt like kicking the stupid thing. Yes she just stood glaring at it.  
  
"It won't melt, no matter how long you stare at it," came a voice at her side.  
  
"Lorraine! You snuck up quietly."  
  
"You've got to sneak about when you cut as many classes as I do."  
  
"Again?"  
  
"Well, What's the use? I'm moving, aren't I? Right in the middle of the Semester. And I'll start in the middle of their Semester. I might as well give it up until after Christmas. Anyhow, it was worth it to see you use your X-Ray Vision."  
  
Gabrielle smiled, yet was sad as she watched Lorraine work her Magic on the locker door. Who would make her laugh when Lorraine moved? Who else would blitherly ignore her requests for peace and quiet and drage her to a party anyway?  
  
"Come to the bathroom with me,"Lorraine said as Gabrielle stashed her books and got out her lunch. "It's between shifts, so we might even be able to breathe in there." They headed for the bathroom nearest the cafeteria. "I'm sorry about last night,"  
Lorraine said as she barrled through the swinging doors of the bathroom.  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry about," said Gabrielle behind her,  
suprised. Could she dare hope that Lorraine was ready to talk?  
They stood in front of the mirros, and Lorraine pulled out a comb and tried to arrange her Auburn curls. "You'd think they'd replace these damn mirrors," she said angrily. "They're all cracked up."  
Then Gabrielle saw her friends face change suddenly. Uh-oh,  
Gabrielle thought.  
  
"Gabrielle, I don't want to move," Lorraine barely got out before she started crying. "I won't have any friends. I'll have to start over." Gabrielle's hopes plunged. She'd thought they were going to talk about her. It almost made her cry too, but she held Lorraine,  
rubbed her back and uttered an occasional "There, There." Inside she was lost. How can I help you, she thought. When I can't even help myself? It was disturbing. Lorraine was the strong one. She didn't do this. The world was topsy-turvy again.  
  
"I'm sorry," gasped Lorraine after a while. "I've no right to feel this way. I'm moving but you....." she sobbed again.  
  
She can't say it, Gabrielle thought. We both know what she means,  
and she can't say it. It isn't your pity I want, she thought, and almost pushed her friend away, but stopped herself. Lorraine really did care. It wasn't her fault that people didn't know how to talk about death. Not dad, not the nieghbors, not Mom's friends.  
Death's partner was silence. Tenderness for her friend overwhelmed her dismay. "You Nerd. You know you can always tell me how you feel. Usually nothing, including me, can stop you."  
  
"But I feel so selfish."  
  
You always are anyway, Gabrielel realized but never on purpose.  
It was just the way Lorraine was. Gabrielle could almost take comfort in the familarity of it. She gently shook her friend "What will I do without you?"  
  
That brought more tears. "I'll miss you so much Gabby."  
  
The stood for a while for a while, holding each other. It was more rare that Lorraine let herself be fragile. After her mother left she was too afraid to breaking for good. At least that was what Gabrielle had guessed from watching her. We'll have another thing in common now, Gabrielle thought, but at least you'll be able to visit your mother. There was bitterness in this thought. She stroked Lorraines hair in an attempt to atone. This was a moment when she could slip gently past Lorraines guard. I'm afraid thought too, she prepared to say. I'm afraid my mother will die, and my father will grieve forever, and I'll always be alone, because you're going too.  
  
But there was a bell ringing somewhere, and second period Lunch was signaled. Damn,Damn, Damn, Gabrielle thought.  
  
The Door burst open, and a group of girls crowded in, already distributing cigarettes. Lorraine pushed Gabrielle away and hastily splashed water onto her face. A blonde wtih garish makeup stood staring at them wtih her lit cigarette in her carefully poised hand.  
  
"You guys queer or something?" she asked jeeringly.  
  
"Piss off, Morgan," Said Lorraine, putting her arm around Gabrielle protectively. "You know, you could break you wrist holding a cigarette like that," and Gabrielle found herself being swept out of the bathroom. Things were back to normal.  
  
In the Cafeteria they sat at their usual table near the back door.  
"I'm going to get a death burger," Lorraine said after checking her purse, and jumped up. "Hold the fort."  
  
Gabrielle smiled with wry affectionat Lorraines tactlessness. Just after Lorraine left two girls Gabrielle regonized from physics class sat at the other end of the tbale. They unwrapped their sandwhiches and chattered between bites. Gabrielle felt a little guilty about listening but it seemed impossible not to, especially when they sat so near her. She chased an idea for a poem around her head, about a silver boy in the moonlight, but finally the word murder caught her attention and held it.  
  
"She was Shiela's Cousin," the dark one said dramtically as she leaned across the table.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes, the found her with her throat slashed."  
  
The tall one shuddered. "God, it's like Jack the Ripper or some-  
thing."  
  
"Ugh," they agreed in a unison.  
  
Lorrain returned with her lunch, and the other conversation faded into the background. "Have you been reading the paper lately? Gabrielle asked Lorraine.  
  
"Not really. Who's got time? Why?"  
  
Gabrielle glanced at the other girls at the end of the table, still engrossed in the details of the murder. "Oh, there was something in the news. I saw a headline, but I didnt' read about it. I thought you might know."  
  
"Not me. They call me Miss-Oblivious," Lorraine camped in her Saturday-Morning cartoon voice."  
  
Gabrielle laughed to cover her irratation. It was to true. "Never-  
mind."  
  
After school her father was outside to pick her up. "Hop in. We're going to the hospital," he said, but that was about all he said on the way. He concentrated on drving with the intensity of a newly licensed driver, as if one thing could block out all others. Gabrielle watched him carefully, waiting for news, but in vain. She wanted to break the silence but couldn't think of an opening remark. Then they were there.  
  
People always talked about hating the smell of hospitals. As they went up in the elevator, Gabrielle thought this one smelled rather pleasant, like evergreen or something. It was irratating that there should be anything to like. She worried a piece of paper in her coat pocket to shreds.  
  
At the door she hestiated, afraid to go in, what does Mom look like this time? She wondered. Her father opened the door for her and she had to step inside. Gabrielle's throat seemed to close up when she saw her mother, a fragile stick figure in the bed, wtih arms more bruised than ever from the needles and tubes.  
  
"Mom?" she said in a slightly cracked voice.  
  
Eyelashes fluttered, around her mother opened her eyes she smiled weakily and her skin, dry as old parchement crinkled with effort.  
"Gabby," she whispered back in a voice just as cracked. "Darling."  
The bed whined as she moved into a sitting position.  
  
Gabrielle's gaze flicked around the room. She was repelled once more by the instutional green walls, barely relieved by a drab forest scene, and a calender that marked off the days for the record keepers. Her mother's name was in a slot above the bed, so each impersonal shift would know who she was. The medicine cabinet,  
cupboards,drawers, and the counters were all painted white, and as easy to clean of stains as the pale tile floor. An unused television was tilted toward the window.  
  
Her father nudged her forward. She started to sit, then wasn't sure.  
She glanced at him and he nodded so she can lowed herself into the chair at the bedside. Her father fussed around his wife, fluffing her pillow, straightening her sheets, all smiles, and all teases.  
Where was the silent man who had driven here? Gabrielle wonder-  
ed. When he was satisfied the patient was comforatable, he flopped down into a chair on the other side of the room, giving them space to talk. He seemed to delfate when he put her mother's life on sight.  
He slouched, his hands dug deep into his tweed pockets, and glanced at Gabrielle with worried, unspoken questions. Gabrielle wished he's ask them.  
  
"A great view of the parking lot you've got," she said."  
  
"I'm glad you like it." Gabrielle was shocked at how faint her mother's voice was despite the ironic tone.  
  
Gabrielle reached her hand and noticed a tightness around her eyes that she knew meant pain, as did the way her mother's other hand twisted and grapsed the blanket. Gabrielle wanted to reach out and stop it. It hurt her to watch.  
  
"Are you eating?" Her mother asked.  
  
"Are you?" Gabrielle shot back, glancing at the barely touched meal still sitting on the beside tray.  
  
"Touche."  
  
"Come home soon, Mom. I miss you."  
  
Gabrielle felt her hand sqeezed gently. "I'll try, darling. I'll try."  
  
Gabrielle's eyes filled with tears. Please don't cry, she begged herself. Don't upset her. "Guess what," she said grasping for something to say. "The Rose by the gate still has a bloom on it."  
  
Her mother smiled. "Sill old thing. It doesnt' seem decent at this time of year, does it?"  
  
They were silent for a while. Gabrielle hated the way hospitals sucked everything you wanted to say right out of your head.  
It's bad enough that they leave the door open so the nurses can come and go, she thought, but her Dad sat there like some kind of Guardian Angel.  
  
"I just needed to see you," her mother finally said.  
  
"Okay." Gabrielle said fighting back tears.  
  
"You need to eat more sweetheart. Wear some makeup."  
  
Gabrielle laughed gently, and sniffed. " I remember when you would have to take a wash cloth and wipe it off for me and now you're telling me to wear it. Do I look that bad?"  
  
"Heavens, No. But you're old enough. You should get your hair cut in one of those new styles."  
  
Gabrielle stroked a baby fine tuft of her mother's newly grown hair.  
"Like you. Huh?"  
  
"Well my punk look wasn't exactly intentional." She smiled "And it looks like a pretentious on an old Lady like me."  
  
"But you're not old," Gabrielle said her voice wavering.  
  
"I'm thirsty," her mother said, still deft at diverting disater. "Pour me a glass please."  
  
As Gabrielle reached for a pitcher, a nurse poked her head around the door. She nodded at Mr. Potter, who then stepped forward.  
"That's enough for now," he said holding Gabrielle's shoulders firmly, kissing the top of her head.  
  
"James NO," he is wife protested, struggling to sit up.  
  
"You know what the doctor said," he answered unyielding.  
  
I'm being squeezed out again, Gabrielle thought bitterly, but she leaned and kissed the cheek offered to her.  
  
"They totally ignore what I want around here," her mother, said as if apologizing.  
  
Outside the room her father tried to give Gabrielle cab fare, and some extra money for dinner. She wanted to ignore it, but he closed her hand firmly around the bills with his large dry hand.  
  
"What did the doctor say?" she asked.  
  
He Finally looked her in the eyes. "Gabby, The Doctor think you wear your mother out. I think seeeing you does good for her, but he's the doctor. Let's try his way and have you stay away for a while. I want what's best for her."  
  
"So you're on his side......."  
  
He cut off her protest with a gentle finger to her lips. "Get some pizza. Invite Lorraine over to keep you company," he said. "I'll stay for a bit longer." He stroked her cheeck and left her in the hall.  
  
What if I screamed and cried and made a fuss? She thought. What if I had a tantrum and begged them not to send me away? But she couldn't do that to them. She bit her lip and turned away. not some-  
thing Gabby would do...but her mom is the most important person to her.....she wouldnt' hurt her. Newayz back to the story  
  
Outside, she found one of the cabs that always lingered there.  
She rode home, worrying about her mother.  
  
She paid the cabdriver in front of her house, but when she got to the front door, she couldn't bring herself to fumble the key into the lock. She shoved itback into her jacket pocket. I can't face the silence right now, she thought. It's suffercating.  
  
She went to the park and watched the children play until they were called away to dinner. It was company of sorts, yet undemanding.  
A few stragglers came back to defy the dusk curfew on the play-  
ground, but as the shadows because deeper, and the lights came on,  
even they were called back to warm beds and houses full of parents,  
brothers, sisters, and blaring Tv sets.  
  
I wish my family was back to normal, she thought. She missed the old days. Now she had to be the responsible one. Since Harry and Melissa were at other people's houses. I hate doing the laundry. I hate having to remind Dad the phone bill's are due.  
Mom always looked after us. The old anger rose again. She thumped her knew gently with her fist as if to subdue it. She thought she'd gotten over that. It's not her fault, Gabrielle told herself. It's stupid to think that. She's not going away on purpose. But Dad's going to be a vegatable who's going to look after me?  
  
A cold breeze through the park, and clouds blew across the early moon. Gabrielle pulled her demin jacket closer around her. It was time to get out the heavier coats from the storage closet upstairs.  
She shivered suddenly as if ice trickled down her spine.  
  
"It's a beautiful night," came a soft voice beside her. She turned around swiftly, her heart pouding. A young man sat there. The lamplight outlined him against the dark bushes behind like a ring of frost around the moon. He smiled at her as a cat smiles, with secret humor. "You scared me," she whispered fiercly. Who was this person invading her bench.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, but didn't look it.  
  
She regonized him then, from last night. As if she saw this he said,  
"We're even now. You scared me."  
  
"Why should you be scared?" She demanded. "It's you creeping up on people."  
  
"Why should you be?" he asked  
  
Gabrielle bristled defensively. " I don't like evasive conversations."  
  
"Do you like any conversations?"  
  
"No. I want to be alone."  
  
" I think you are alone." He reached for her hand. She snatched it away and stood up. How dare he be right, then take advantage of it? He seemed suprised for a second, but then his smile deepened,  
and a dreamy look was on his face. "Please Stay." he said in tones soft as a lullaby. His eyes were huge, dark, and gentle. She hesitated for a moment. He seemed so understanding. Surely she could talk to him. Then her anger surfaced again. The mainpulative jerk, she thought.  
  
"I don't know what you're after," she said, "But you can look for it somewhere else." She turned and walks firmly away.  
  
"It strikes me," he called over her in a voice now with an edge to it.  
"That girls who sit alone in parks at night are the one's after something."  
  
She was so furious, she could have screamed. She almost turned,  
back, but no, she thought, that's what he wants. She walked on.  
Her anger carried her home before she knew it. Strangely, it made her hungry. She ate better than she had in weeks.  
  
She hesistated once between moutfuls with a feeling of dread.  
Was he wierd? Would he have hurt her? No. He looked like an angel in a Renassance painting. Could beauty hurt?  
  
A.n/ So thats it. You know the drill Press the pretty "Go" button on the bottom and tell me whatcha think.  
  
Don't judge Draco to soon. He seems like a jerk and mysterious.  
but is he really like that.....just read and find out.  
  
Hope you liked it Spideria. . 


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